


Beautiful, what's your hurry?

by yellowteapots



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Christmas fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Misunderstandings, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5462126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowteapots/pseuds/yellowteapots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is pissed when the fire alarm goes off. In the middle of the night. The day before her Art History Final. She holds Bellamy Blake personally responsible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldenheadfreckledheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/gifts).



> First off, let me apologise that this isn't complete but I hope to have this finished asap (no later than the twelfth day of Christmas!). Hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful holiday season :)

The first thing that Clarke notices when she wakes up is the shrill sound of the fire alarm blaring through her apartment. On finals week. At three in the morning.

 

Clarke is not a morning person at the best of times – not until she's at least managed to pump enough caffeine into her system – but she's even worse when her sleep has been disturbed. And if this is some stoned kid burning toast again then she was going to hunt them down and there was going to have hell to pay in the morning.

 

This happens too often for her to just be able to shrug it off and it's times like this that she _almost_ wishes she'd taken up her mothers offer to pay for accommodation off campus. But she guesses that this is the price she has to pay for giving up pre med and majoring in art.

 

The whole thing is made worse by the fact that she not only manages to trip over her pile of text books and nearly brain herself on her bedside table, but she also stub her toe on the door post as she stumbles out of her bedroom, trying and failing to pull on a sweatshirt without getting tangled up in the sleeves.

 

She's lucky her room mate is staying over at her boyfriends tonight or this whole escapade could have been a lot more embarrassing. She loves Raven, of course, but if there's anyone who could rival Clarke herself at shit talking then it was Raven Reyes.

 

Clarke really doesn't need this the night before her art history final – especially because she kind of sucks at it anyway and that's only half to do with the fact that she gets distracted when the guy who sits a couple of rows in front of her sits with his hands behind his head, flexing his arm muscles. (She affectionately refers to him as 'Arm History Boy' but she wouldn't dream of letting anyone else know that – especially Raven.)

 

Once Clarke's navigated the stairs and made her way out into the quad she realises that flip flops probably weren't the best choice of footwear for her midnight jaunt. There's a definite chill in the air and she thinks that there's probably going to be a frost in the morning which is just her luck really. She's already not looking forward to getting up but it'll be even worse if she's going to end up catching a cold as soon as she leaves the house. (Okay, so she knows that's not how you contract a cold but it's still a pain in the ass that she doesn't have time for.)

 

It's like some sort of college zombie film as she watches all the other students file out of the building, trudging out in varying states of consciousness and undress and grumbling to each other with bleary eyes and slow, lethargic movements. A couple of the RA's are dotted about, trying to herd the half asleep kids into one spot so they can do a role call and Clarke momentarily thanks any deity that will listen that she'd decided to stay in the dorms and not take up the role herself – granted, her bank account doesn't thank her but she figures the dorms were better than renting an apartment which she definitely couldn't afford since she'd refused any financial help from her parents.

 

Clarke shivers despite her best efforts, cursing herself for not pulling on a thicker sweater. This is probably karma for refusing to do any laundry during finals week but she has her priorities dammit. She wasn't exactly expecting to be stood in he quad at stupid o'clock in the morning, freezing her metaphorical balls off.

 

She's stood off to the side of the main group, hands rubbing her arms trying to warm herself up when she hears footsteps behind her and then someone clearing their throat. “You uh look cold.”

 

“No s-shit, Sherlock.” she shivers, turning around to see who it was that had spoken. She doesn't recognise the voice other than the fact that there was no mistaking that it belonged to a male and that it was tinged with thinly veiled concern. Once she's facing the person belonging to the voice, she can't help the smile that finds it's way onto her face and the “Oh it's you.” is out of her mouth before she can stop it.

 

Maybe this whole midnight escapade wouldn't be so bad after all, she thinks as Arm History Boy smiles back at her, a little sleepily. It may be because she's still half asleep but she only just manages to stop herself from reaching out and tracing the freckles which dust across his cheeks.

 

“It's Clarke right? You're in my Art History class, aren't you?” he asks, rubbing his hand across the base of his neck and Clarke has to make a concerted effort not to just gawk at his arms. She's only human.

 

“Yeah, that's me.” she does a small kind of half wave. “Nice to meet you...” she trails off, cheeks heating up because she doesn't even know his actual name and addressing him by the objectifying nick name she's given him doesn't seem appropriate for a first meeting. Christ.

 

His cheeks redden too but she thinks that it's probably down to the cold. “Uh, Bellamy. Sorry I should've introduced myself first.” he pauses, before shucking off his Ark U hoody – it's one of the ones that has the fur lining in the hood, it looks warm. He holds it out for her. “Here.”

 

“Won't you be cold?”

 

“Nah, s'all right.” he shrugs. “I have a little sister.” he adds as if that's enough to explain. Which Clarke supposes it kind of is so she pulls the hoody on over her sweater, feeling it's warmth around her like a hug.

“Thanks Bellamy.”

 

He nods, “No problem.”

 

They talk for a while about their class whilst the RA's mill about checking names off lists and assuring some of the younger kids once they've been given the all clear by campus staff. It's nice. He seems nice. So of course something goes wrong because Clarke Griffin and Luck do not go together.

 

“God Bell!” A brunette girl that Clarke vaguely recognises as living on her floor marches over, smirk plastered across her face and a devilish glint in her eye. “I've told you before, there's no need to pull the fire alarm to get a girl to leave your apartment. You could always ask nicely.”

 

It looks like he's about to say something before the girl frowns. “I mean I knew you were having trouble with Roma but really, Bell, this is a bit extreme even for you! “Oh, who's your new friend.” The girl smirks again, emphasising the word 'friend' a bit too much for Clarkes liking. “Moving on already huh?”

 

Clarke recoils away from him, face twisting into a grimace. “Oh my god! So you're the reason I’m stood out here freezing my ass off! Because of what -” To his credit, Bellamys jaw drops like someone just slapped him across the face.“Some brainless chick that doesn't get the message. And then you have the audacity to use the opportunity to then hit on me?”

 

“What? No I -” he starts but then she's marching off back towards her building, letting his protests mix in with the crowd noise. In hindsight she may have been quick to judge but she was tired and grouchy and her opinion on men after the whole Finn incident wasn't at all optimistic.

 

And to think she had a crush on that guy. She kind of figures that she maybe needs a new vetting process for potential crushes that goes beyond 'has nice arms' and 'seems like a nice guy' because that never seems to get her anywhere.

 

Clarke realises all too late – when she wakes up late the next morning, trying to stuff all of her things into her bag – that she not only kept Fire Alarm Assholes hoody but she'd slept in it. Well fuck him basically. It was warm and comfortable and not at all a reflection on him.

 


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little bit more of the story, hope it goes down well. There should be either one or two chapters left? Hope everyone had a great time over the holidays. (Also I hope I've got the Americanisms down.) :)

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Bellamy frowns, eyebrows creasing inwards as he folds his arms over his chest.

 

“Meddling works both ways, Bell.” Octavia smirks just as the door slams behind Clarke. “If you insist on interfering in my love life then I can't be held responsible for my actions.”

 

“For the last time, O, I only meddle because I want the best for you and I just don't think that a tattooed guy who's six years older than you is right for you.” As much as he loves his sister, Octavia is one of the most stubborn people he has ever met – surpassed only by himself, probably – and he can't help but think that trying to talk her out of this is like trying to convince a wall of...well anything really.

 

She scowls. “If you like thinking so much maybe you should think about minding your own business.”

 

“You're such a brat.” he grimaces.

 

“You've only got yourself to blame really, you're the one that raised me.”

 

Which is probably why he can't help but get a bit over involved in her life. It's just his brotherly instincts kicking in and he can't help it. Technically speaking, he could reign himself in a little more – Octavia may have had a point when she chewed him out about low-key stalking Lincoln at his tattoo parlour. He just wants to look out for her – sue him.

 

“Whatever O. Thanks for that by the way.”

 

She bats her eyelashes at him, the picture of innocence. “Thanks for what, big brother?”

 

“She seems nice but now she must think that I’m some sort of womanising misogynist or something.” he sighs, running a hand through his curls until he reaches the back of his neck.

 

Octavia shrugs, “I'm glad I'm not the only one. At least we'll have something in common if you manage to talk her round. Which, judging by her reaction, isn't at all likely.”

 

“Urgh I hate you.” he groans, flipping her off as he trudges back towards the dorms.

 

“Love you too Bell.” she calls after him.

 

-

 

The evening after her Art History final (she determinedly ignored Fire Alarm Asshole the whole way through and afterwards when it looked like he was about to speak to her) Clarke bursts into her dorm room to find Raven sat cross legged on her bed, Bellamy's hoody in her hand and an accusatory look on her face. Clarke thinks Raven would be a whole lot more intimidating if it wasn't for the fact that she was wearing her threadbare R2D2 pyjamas – not that she'd voice it.

 

“What the hell is this?” Raven pounces as soon as the door closes behind Clarke, thrusting the jumper in her face.

 

“It's a hoody.” Clarke deadpans, flopping down next to her friend. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

 

Raven – to her credit – doesn't even dignify that with a reply, she simply raises an eyebrow and sends her elbow into Clarkes ribs.

 

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry.” Clarke surrenders, holding her hands up.

 

“I'll rephrase the question, then. _Whose_ is this?”

 

“Some dick who set off the fire alarm.” She replies, thinking it was a satisfactory answer. Raven clearly disagrees.

 

“ _Right_.” she draws out the 'I' for emphasis. “Some dick who set off the fire alarm?”

 

“Yeah.” she mutters, leaning over to grab the take-out menus from her bedside table. Usually the prospect of noodles is enough to distract the other girl from almost any line of questioning.

 

Raven snatches the menus and proceeds to slap them lightly against her forehead. “And you have his hoody because...?”

 

“I was cold and he has a sister? I don't know. But he's an ass hole. A misogynistic ass hole and to punish him I'm keeping the hoody.” she shrugs and this time it's enough. “Gourmet Oriental or Hong Kong City?”

 

“I'm offended you even have to ask.”

 

And that's the end of that. (Or Clarke hopes it is anyway.)

 

-

 

He's decides to say something to Clarke, maybe make light of the night before, after their class trudge out of their exam, hoping she might be more receptive after finishing the nights sleep and finishing their exam. He shucks on his beat up leather jacket and builds up enough courage before walking over to where she's sat in the canteen, head bent over a book.

 

She must hear his footsteps as she looks up when he comes to a halt just before he gets to her table. He's just about to apologise when a flash of recognition sparks in her eyes and she sends him a look which almost makes him wish he was six feet under. Before he can get any words out, she's stuffed all of her belongings into her bag and is marching off, blond braid swinging behind her.

 

“Fucking Octavia.” Bellamy grumbles once he's home, slamming the door behind him causing his room mate to jump. He's just got back from the last of his finals and doesn't mean to storm into their apartment but, as he drops his satchel to the floor and drops his keys into the bowl, he's pretty sure of two things. First, that he fucked up the Byzantine question and second of all, Clarke Griffin has it in for him.

 

“I thought you said we weren't supposed to do that.” Miller laughs, tossing Bellamy an Xbox controller without taking his eyes off the screen. “You even quoted some obscure picture you saw on pinterest.”

 

Bellamy grumbles, grabbing two beers from the fridge and handing one to Miller before flopping down onto the couch. “She's such a brat sometimes.”

 

“I'm sure you're right, but why specifically?” he asks, taking a sip of the beer before starting up the game again. “This isn't about Lincoln again is it, because if it is then you need to hurry up and sort out your shit.”

 

Bellamy sighs, running a hand through his dishevelled hair, and then goes on to explain the events of the night before in as much detail as he can considering he's also trying to dispatch as many zombies as he can.

 

“You could always try to, you know, explain yourself?” Miller shrugs once Bellamy's finished.

 

“Yeah right.” he scoffs, taking out a few more members of the herd. “Like that'll work.”

 

After a few more beers and even more losses against Miller – he's won a couple of times but he's pretty sure that Miller's just letting him win to make him feel better – Bellamy decides that Miller might be right. Explaining himself doesn't actually sound like the worst thing, besides Clarke seems reasonable enough.

 

-

 

The first snow was beginning to fall, white flakes fall to the ground and thinly coat the university grounds, as Clarke leaves the dorms and steps out into the quad. She's glad she'd pulled on her scarf as the wind whistles through the buildings as she makes her way towards the small coffee shop near the edge of the campus, the frost on the grass crunching under her boots as she takes a short cut over one of the embankments.

 

Grounders was nothing flashy, just a few tables scattered about and a fairly simple menu, but Clarke thought it was nice enough especially if she was nipping in to grab a hot chocolate before hitting the library – or when she needed a shot of espresso before one of her nine am lectures. The small bell rings as she pushes open the door and she feels guilty when a gust of wind brings in a few dead leaves.

 

“Morning Clarke,” the tall, muscular barista calls as she makes her way over to the counter. Clarke likes Lincoln, they'd taken an art class together a couple of semesters ago and bonded over their shared disdain for the visiting instructor. “Your usual?”

 

She nods and then he sets to work preparing her drink.

 

“Are you going home for the holidays?” he asks as he puts the lid on her cup.

 

“Not this year,” she smiles sadly. “I got into a fight with my Mom again about school stuff so I think I’d rather just spend it here with people I actually like right now. What about you?”

 

The older man nods as she hands over her money. “I'm staying too. I decided to spend the holidays with my girlfriend and her brother this year so I might see you around.”

 

Clarke smiles and thanks him for the drink. “Happy Holidays.”

 

If she sees Bellamy jogging across the quad then she pretends she's too engrossed in her hot chocolate to notice the flex of his muscles and the way it looks as though he hasn't even broken a sweat.

 

(She's not.)

 

-

 

The next time Bellamy sees her he's on a jog and she's coming out of Lincolns coffee shop and she pretends not to see him. If he decides to stop near the entrance to her building and starts to stretch just as she's coming up the path then it's purely coincidental.

 

Bellamy likes to think he's good at reading people and, if he's as good as he thinks he is, then she was definitely showing some interest when they first spoke out on the quad. And if he's totally honest, he's kind of enjoying the whole process of trying to win her over. Even though he's always met with an eye roll or a dismissive glance, he doesn't miss the flush across her cheeks as she scowls in his direction.

 

Octavia is lying on his sofa when he gets home, fingers flying across her phone screen. She's got the TV blaring on one of the music channels he begrudges paying for and there are empty cheeto packets – _his_ cheeto packets – scattered around the room.

 

He wanders across to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, draining it in one before moving back into the living room.“What're you doing?”

 

She grunts in reply.

 

“Oh hi, Bellamy. How was your day? Thank you for asking, it was great. By the way, feel free to use my TV and eat all of my food.”

 

She throws a balled up packet at him but it falls short and lands at his feet.

 

He shouldn't complain really – he's pleased they're on relatively good terms again. He's still not _happy_ about the situation with Lincoln but he's _trying_ to be okay with it for his sisters sake. They still fight about it occasionally but he's tired of fighting with her.

 

He's pretty sure she hasn't moved from her spot at all since she's been here and she still hasn't looked up from her phone so he goes over and envelopes her into a hug.

 

“Ewh, go shower!” she demands, flying up from the sofa and away from him as quickly as possible.

 

He chuckles, ruffling her hair, and then wanders out to the bathroom. “Fine, but when I get back we're watching _Rome._ ”

 

He hears the door slam just before he's about to turn on the water.

 

-

 

Clarke is already on edge when marches into the library, bag slung over her shoulder and a couple of her pre med text books under her arm. She's just gotten off of the phone with her mum _again_ and she's determined to Abby prove wrong. So it's not all that surprising to her that she comes face to face with Bellamy Blake. It's just her luck really after the day she's had.

 

By the looks of things, he's scanning the books on the bottom shelf of the history section, crouching down to do so, and she most certainly does not check out the way the muscles in his arms flex as he runs a finger along the spines of the books. Much. She's only human and even if she doesn't like him as a person she can still admit that he could be considered aesthetically pleasing to some people. Not her, but...some people.

 

He seems engrossed enough in what he's doing that she hopes she can maybe sneak past him without him noticing her. But since this is Clarke she has no such luck. Before she can take another step he begins to stand.

 

She scowls as he turns around, a little pleased by the look of shock on his face. She quirks an eyebrow and slams her books down onto the nearest desk – she hopes it's an intimidating gesture but feels a bit disappointed when he just raises an eyebrow and has the audacity to look amused.

 

“Clarke, hey, how's it going?” he asks, a hint of pink blossoming underneath the freckles that are dotted across his cheek bones. His smile is sort of disarming and she can see how he's able to charm all of these girls. It would never work on her, of course, not now, but she could that it might have worked if his sister hadn't interrupted them the other night.

 

“It's the week after finals, what possible reason could you have for being in here?” it comes out a lot more aggressively than she intended but she's tired and frustrated with her mother and she really doesn't want to deal with people.

 

She gets the response she's looking for when he looks taken aback, hurt even.“Um, because I work in here.”

 

At least Clarke has the decency to look a little embarrassed, she can feel her cheeks heating. But then it's quickly ruined by what comes out of her mouth next. “Oh, I just didn't expect you to be the sort of guy that reads between one night stands.”

 

She watches as his jaw nearly falls out of it's socket but he quickly recovers, a steely look replacing his shock. “And I didn't expect you to be the kind of stuck up princess everybody says you are but there we are.”

 

At this point, Clarke can practically feel her blood boiling so she just turns her back on him before she says anything else that she would come to regret and flops down at the desk, grimace etched across her face.

 

She pulls out some work, spreading her books across the table with as much passive aggression as she can muster, but finds that she can't really concentrate on the words in front of her whilst he's still pacing around the room.

 

It's not like he's wrong, she thinks. The thing is, Clarke knows she can rub people up the wrong way but to hear it from someone else is another thing entirely. She guesses she kind of deserves it after what she said to him. She had no right to judge him like that. Not really. She's just been overly stressed lately and she's been fighting with her Mom and maybe, just maybe, he's been caught in the cross fire. But the stubborn streak that runs through her like a pencil lead keeps her eyes trained on the pages and away from Bellamy.

 

It takes about half an hour of awkward silence and stolen glances before Clarke hears a thud across from her and refuses to look up even when he clears his throat.

 

“My sister was kidding you know.” he starts. “She's just mad that I don't approve of her boyfriend and wants to -”

 

“I really don't care.” she practically growls, blinking away the tears prickling the back of her eyes.

 

“Look, Clarke. I'm sorry.” she can practically hear the anguish that must be written across his face. “I shouldn't have said that, you didn't deserve it, but what you said kind of hurt.”

 

He goes quiet, then, and she thinks that it might be safe to look now. She glances up from underneath her hair and she realises how wrong she was. Bellamy is leant forward over the desk, hands clasped in front of him, and he's looking at her in a way she can't quite decipher. The worst part, though, is most definitely the fact that he has a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose which seem to emphasise the puppy dog eyes he's currently throwing in her direction. She's mad about it.

 

“You really don't have to apologise, Bellamy.” she sighs, closing up her textbook and sitting up in her seat. She can feel herself calming damn which is new all things considered.

 

“I kinda do. It's just that...I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day.” he does that thing where he rubs his hand at the base of his neck and she thinks it must be a nervous tick of his. “O was mad with me about the Lincoln stuff and was being a brat. She had no right to drag you into it like that.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “So I was collateral damage?” she shakes her head. “But seriously, Lincoln's a good guy, I took a class with him last semester.”

 

He rolls his eyes and she gets the feeling that he's fed up with hearing how great of a guy Lincoln is. “I guess what I'm trying to say is 'can we start over?'”

 

“I wouldn't be opposed to that.” she smiles. Then extends her hand over the table. “Hi, I'm Clarke Griffin.”

 

She decides to ignore the warm feeling she gets as a smile spreads across his lips and it only takes him a beat before he's shaking her hand in his much bigger one. “Bellamy Blake.” he smiles. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

She thinks it might be, given time.

 


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more left after this, hopefully you'll enjoy the conclusion :)

Bellamy realises that he's going to have the most stressful Christmas he's had in a while when he realises that Clarke Griffin is not going home for the holidays. But not in the way he'd been expecting when she was still holding a grudge.

 

Apparently, once Clarke decides that she actually likes a person and stops referring to them with offensive nicknames – for the last time he was _not_ the one to pull the alarm, dammit – she likes to spend as much time with them as she can which may or may not result in confusing feelings.

 

In the few days that follow their reconciliation, they spend most of their free time together since both of their room mates have already made the journey home for the holidays and he can't say that he minds. Not really. It means he can't walk around the dorms in just his boxer shorts but it's December so he probably shouldn't be doing that anyway. (Especially not after O barged in on him that one time.)

 

He can't help but think he might be getting too attached too soon. Which could cause a problem to their growing friendship. Objectively speaking, he knows that Clarke is attractive. The night of the fire alarm was when he'd finally mustered up enough courage to finally speak to her after weeks of debate. Which is why it was so mortifying for Octavia to suggest that he was some kind of womaniser. He wasn't bad with girls but he just wasn't interested in casual things anymore. He was getting too old for all that.

 

Bellamy thinks he should probably be used to walking through his already open front door to find someone who isn't his room-mate sitting on their sofa (read: Octavia Blake), but he's taken by surprise when he comes home from his lunch with Octavia to find Clarke sitting cross-legged, sketch book in hand, acting as though it's not weird that she's in his room.

 

“How'd you get in?” He asks, taking off his coat and throwing it onto a hook. It's not that he minds that she's there, it's more that he is genuinely curious as to how she got in.

 

“You should really think of hiding your spare key in a more imaginative place than underneath the door matt.” she looks up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and he notices she's got a dark smudge of charcoal underneath her left eye – it's cute. “You're just asking to be robbed.” Maybe not.

 

“Or I could make some friends that aren't going to break into my apartment.”

 

She quirks her head to the side, “Technically, it's kind of my apartment too.” he gives her a quizzical glance and she shrugs before he gets the chance to question her. “We live in the dorms, loser, we both live here. So, like I said, I _technically_ didn't break in. Besides, if you don't want people getting into your place, don't leave the key under the damn matt.”

 

He rolls his eyes. Growing up with Octavia means he knows not to get into an argument he's sure to lose. “You want to stay for dinner?”

 

“Please.” she smiles and, then, as if on cue her stomach rumbles. “I didn't know you could cook.”

 

“There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Princess.” he likes the way she blushes at the nickname. “I'm more than just a Fire Alarm Asshole, you know.”

 

He supposes he deserves the pillow to the face. “Hey, I apologised about that. I didn't know you knew Monty – it was an honest mistake – I didn't think you'd ever find out. Besides I think Jasper's learnt his lesson about smoking pot in the dorms.”

 

“That's one way to phrase it.”

 

She rolls her eyes and then starts to pack up her drawing materials, tucking them into her denim rucksack before letting it slouch against the foot of the sofa.

 

Bellamy turns his back to her, leaning up to grab a packet of pasta from the top shelf, before he sets to work busying himself in the kitchen. He's suddenly glad he went grocery shopping yesterday, secretly hoping to impress her. He's not sure yet how to categorise their new friendship, doesn't know if he has a shot with her, but he figures that romantically or not Clarke Griffin is someone he wants to keep in his life.

 

Once he's turned on the stove and has the pasta simmering in the pan he hears her turn on his shitty TV and a small smile flickers across his face as he hears her flicking through the stations, groaning every time she lands on the news. According to Clarke, the news should be banned because it's just prejudiced white men scaremongering rather than reporting on things that people are actually interested in hearing.

 

Bellamy has fetched all the herb pots down from his cupboard – he's glad he and Miller decided to split up the kitchen because he _knows_ that his room-mate has some of his boyfriends weed stashed somewhere and he doesn't want to accidentally feed his sister hash lasagne or something – and is just about to wash the tomatoes when suddenly Clarke is suddenly there at his side, hopping up onto the counter. “There's nothing good on, can I watch?”

 

“You could always help?”

 

She shrugs, “Nah, I think I’ll just sit here and watch. You're better than the news.” (That's probably one of the nicest things she's said to him, he thinks.)

 

“Okay,” he laughs. “But you'll have to get off the counter though, I kind of need that.” he adds, lightly slapping her thigh. He doesn't notice the blush on her cheeks at the contact and he certainly doesn't start to over think things. Well he does but he can't help it, it's who he is.

 

“ _Fine_.” she frowns, taking a hair tie from her wrist and twisting her hair into a sloppy bun before leaning against the fridge.

 

He carries on, chopping the tomatoes and adding them to the pan, and Clarke seems to be content just watching him, occasionally chipping in with a joke or insult of some kind. He can't say he minds though. It's nice.

 

“Maybe you should add some of this?” she grins, shoving a tub of chilli powder in his face.

 

“Yeah, I'm thinking maybe not. It doesn't really mix well with the pasta sauce.” he sighs, putting it back on the shelf and swapping it over for the mixed herbs. She pouts. “Besides, I thought you didn't want to help?”

 

“Oh, I don't. I just wanted to be able to tell you that if you can't handle the heat you shouldn't be in the kitchen.”

 

“Uh, God. That's not even funny. Why are we friends?”

 

“Midnight rendezvous, meddling sisters and ridiculous misunderstandings.” she laughs, dipping her finger into the sauce. “We're like a British period drama.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Go set the table, would you?”

 

“You're such a Grandpa, just eat off your lap like a normal person.” she whines.

 

Another thing he learns is that he can't say no to her, so they do eat off their laps. At least he manages to get her to agree to watch one of his History Documentaries he's recorded as a means of appeasement and she doesn't seem to mind too much.

 

She takes a forkful out of the bowl and brings it up to her lips, inhaling deeply before devouring the pasta. A smile spreads across her face and she lets out a small sound of approval. “Where have you been all my life?” she jokes.

 

He pretends to think about it, taking a bite of his own meal. “Well for the past year I've been about ten feet above you.”

 

“Loser.”

 

\--

 

Raven has a field day when she calls the day before Christmas Eve to check up on Clarke. According to Raven it's to see how Clarke's holding up at campus on her own but Clarke has a sneaking suspicion that it's really just an excuse for Raven to avoid her foster parents. Never the less, Raven finds it hilarious that Clarke is now not only tolerating Bellamy but actively seeking him out to spend time with him. At his place. And, on top of it all, admits that she was wrong and too quick to judge him.

 

“I knew it.” she'd singsongs down the phone, smirk evident in her voice. “I knew it and yet I can't believe it, Clarke. I'm gone all of three days and you've replaced me with some cute guy... I feel cheated on.” she tacks the last part on with a fake snivel. If it's still too soon for a joke like that then neither of them comment on it.

 

“Come on, it's not like that.” Clarke shrugs even though she knows Raven can't see her. “We're friends.”

 

Clarke can imagine Raven's eyebrow arching. “Then why does that sound like a question?”

 

“It's not. He's cool. We're just two people hanging out. Platonically.” she can't help but wonder why it feels as though she's lying because she's not. She's pretty sure she's not anyway but it still nags at her as she ties up her shoelaces.

 

“Hmm, okay. If that's the story you're sticking with.” Raven laughs and Clarke wonders why they're friends. Then she remembers that Raven is awesome even if she knows Clarke too well for her own good. (If the Finncident was what she had do endure to get Raven in her life then she'd do it all over again.)

 

“Enough about me, how's _Kyle_?” Clarke's hoping that her change in tact is going to throw Raven off the scent. Given the opportunity, Raven loves nothing more than trash talking her on-again off-again boyfriend – even more so when he's actually present.

 

The other girl scoffs. “Nice try, Griffin.”

 

She's nearly ready to leave her room, balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear as she stuffs her wallet into her bag, and even if she wasn't trying to avoid Ravens questions she'd have to go anyway. “Got to dash, I've got somewhere to be.”

 

It sounds like Raven's about to say something but then there's an intake of air as if she's changed her mind. “D'you know, I'm not even going to ask. Have fun, kid. I'll probably call again tomorrow, 'kay? Love you.”

 

“Love you too. Bye.”

 

By the time she's made it up the flight of stairs and gets to Bellamys' door she's only a little out of breath. She thinks, albeit briefly, that she should maybe take up going to the gym but then she realises it's never going to happen when the smell of freshly cooked pizza wafts through the door. If she finds out he cooked it from scratch then she's more screwed than she thought.

 

She raps lightly on the door and, when he calls for her to come in, she pushes it open and steps into the room. Bellamy's perched on the back of the couch, back to her, and he's talking on the phone to someone. He must hear her footsteps as he twists round, waving to her with his free hand and a small smile tugging at his lips. The black shirt that he's wearing does wonders for his arms, clinging in all the right places, and she's briefly transported back to the days of shamelessly ogling him during lectures.

 

“Alright, O, I've got to go now....Yeah... See you soon. Bye.” he pauses. “Uh, I love you too.” He hangs up the phone, pocketing it, before letting himself fall over the back of the sofa so that he's spread across the seat. “Turns out Octavia's coming over, you're okay with that right?”

 

“Yeah of course, there's enough pizza, right?”

 

“I see you've got your priorities sorted.” he smirks.

 

…

 

To her credit, Octavia doesn't even bat an eyelid when she bursts into the room, headphones blaring the type of dance music that gives Clarke a headache if she listens to it for too long, and sees Clarke tucked next to her brother on the couch. They're watching another one of Bellamys history documentaries and she's only pretending she's not enjoying it because she likes the way he pouts when he's annoyed about something.

 

“He managed to win you over then?” she asks, perfectly groomed eyebrow raised as she tosses her torn leather jacket on the floor and marches into the kitchen.

 

Bellamy looks a little smug so Clarke does the natural thing and smacks him in the arm with a cushion. Then he notices where Octavia has left her jacket and shouts after her telling her that he doesn't live in a barn, _dammit_.

 

“Yeah, I guess he did.” Clarke replies as soon as Octavia has returned from the fridge, cold beer in her hand.

 

“No thanks to you.” Bellamy grumbles. And, then, looking up. “I thought I told you to stop stealing my food.”

 

“Well it's a good job, dear brother, that this is a drink then.” she smirks, taking a long sip.

 

“Brat.” he smiles fondly.

 

It doesn't take long for the pair of them to start arguing but there's no real heat to it. They have an easy back and forth and Clarke assumes that comes with the territory. She doesn't pay them much mind as she's too busy stuffing her face with pizza to be that invested in an argument over Octavia's new bike. As far as Clarke is concerned, home-made ham and mushroom pizza is much more exciting than road safety but she supposes she would be concerned too if it was Wells.

 

Whilst Bellamy and Octavia continue to bicker, Clarke finds herself sitting on the floor thinking about how much things have changed and it's only been a couple of days. She watches him fight with his sister and she thinks that although he can be an asshole at times, but at least he's not a _misogynistic_ asshole like she'd first thought. He's better than that.

 

Octavia's patience with her brother must run out since she rolls of the sofa, slice of pizza in hand, and flops down next to Clarke. “So, Clarke.” she says her name as though she's trying it out for the first time. The younger girls quirks her head to the side. “What're your plans for the big day? You're leaving it a bit late to go home, aren't you?”

 

“Um, actually I'm not going home. I was just planning on spending my time here, hanging out in my room.”

 

The younger girl looks horrified at the very suggestion. “What? You can't possibly spend Christmas alone. You're coming to Lincolns with us.”

 

Bellamy elbows her. “O, don't be pushy. Clarke might not want to -”

 

“Nonsense Bell, she'd love to.” Octavia looks at her expectantly. “Wouldn't you?”

 

In fact, Clarke actually would. Since she was refusing to make the trip home, she was dreading actually spending Christmas day on her own. Netflix and left over Chinese had their merits but it just wasn't the same as spending the day with people you care about and having a meal so huge that you can't move for hours. “Uh, if you're sure it wouldn't be a problem? I don't want to impose.”

 

She glances at Bellamy tentatively, hoping he doesn't object to her being there. She doesn't think that he would but the look on his face is unreadable.

 

“That settles it then.” Octavia beams. “Bell will pick you up at ten and bring you over to Lincolns.”

 

“Sounds great, thank you. Do you need me to bring anything?”

 

Octavia shakes her head and tell Clarke she need only bring herself and her appetite.

 

Afterwards, Clarke decides that Octavia Blake is the human form of a hurricane. Almost as soon as the girl arrived, she's gone again taking another of Bellamys beers 'for the road'. (“You better not be going anywhere near the roads if you're having that.” “Relax, would you, I'm meeting Lincoln.”)

 

“You don't actually have to come, you know.” Bellamy mumbles once he's sure Octavia isn't going to burst back through the door.

 

“Huh?”

 

“To Lincolns I mean. If you were just being polite before I can make up something to tell O. I know she can be quite intimidating when you first meet her.”

 

She drops her head against his shoulder. “Don't be stupid, of course I want to come. I'd prefer mediating potential fights between you and your sisters boyfriend to sitting at home crying into a bowl of lukewarm fried rice.”

 

“As long as you're sure.”

 

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

 


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm so sorry this has taken so long. There are no excuses other than I am trash and have been suffering from a lack of ideas recently. Thanks for all the comments and kudos so far :)

Clarke gets off the phone with her Mum at about 11am on Christmas Eve and it's as exhausting as ever. She supposes it's her mothers last ditch attempt to get her to come home for Christmas but her mind is made up. As long as Abby refuses to support Clarke's decisions then she won't go home and play happy families – Clarke would deny it if asked but she knows she is just as stubborn as her mother.

She shuffles into the kitchen and makes herself a coffee – she probably should have had one before speaking to her mother, hindsight is a wonderful thing – and then wanders into her living room and pulls out her sketchbook. Clarke takes a sip of her drink as she flicks to the nearest blank page, passing sketches of all her friends and the view from her dorm room.

She pauses, thinking with her pencil hover just above the page, and then begins to drag it across the page and eventually she recognises the pattern of Bellamy's freckles across her page and the bridge of his nose forming from the tip of her pencil. Clarke wishes she could say she was surprised but she's not. He's been taking up a lot of her thoughts, a warm feeling in her stomach whenever he crosses her mind. She hates it when Raven's right. Which happens way too much for Clarke's liking.

Eventually her hand starts to cramp up so she blows the charcoal dust from the page and sets it to the side, taking her mug over to the sink and washing it out. It doesn't take long for her stomach to start rumbling so she scrolls through her phone, wondering if it would be worth ordering in some food. She can't afford it but then again she's a student so she can't really afford anything, besides the cupboards are perpetually empty save for a few packets of questionable instant noddles... On the other hand, she was meant to be meeting Bellamy later so she should probably wait and she if he wants. Which he probably will.

Clarke 11:07am

I'm hungry :(

Bellamy 11:09am

Come over? Door's open...

She thinks about it for a second, imagining what Raven would say if she was here to see this (she'd probably say it sounded like a booty call which), and then gets up, tugging on a pair of slippers because, who is she trying to kid, of course she's going to go. She glances at herself in the hall mirror, running her fingers through a tangle in her hair, and pokes at the bags under her eyes. Ugh, whatever, he's seen her at the ass crack of dawn so he can deal with her now.

Ever since she'd agreed to spend Christmas with the Blake’s she's been feeling nervous about spending the day under Octavia's watchful eye. She can already tell that the siblings are furiously protective they are of each other and she wants to give off the best impression that she can. Don't get her wrong, she loves spending time with Bellamy but if she ever wants to make the transition from friend to more than friend (which she definitely does) then she wants to have his sisters approval. She thinks she probably does.

She doesn't even bother taking her bag, just tucks her phone into her skirt pocket and pulls on one of her loose knit cardigans. There's no point getting all dressed up to walk up a flight of stairs. Besides, they'll probably spend more time watching the Aztec documentary Bellamy has saved on his VCR to show her rather than looking at one another. Well he will be anyway.

Clarke doesn't bother to knock she just walks in, kicking off her slippers and flops down on the sofa making herself at home. Bellamy is noticeably absent but Clarke knows he must be there since she can hear The Beatles blaring loudly from the direction of his room, or the bathroom – she's not too sure – so she just kicks back and flicks on his TV. He'll join her when he's ready.

“I'll be out in a second,” he calls and she guesses that he must have heard the sound of the TV clicking on. It's kind of old, maybe even nearly as old as she is since it still plays videos, so there's always a loud burst of static when you turn it on before it settles on a channel. Apparently Miller kept bugging him to get a new one but he thought it had too much character – she thinks it's such a Bellamy thing to say.

“Okay!”

She's just getting into the latest episode of whatever Monster Hunter programme she's chosen when the music shuts off and she hears the bathroom door slam. Then comes the sound of wet footsteps and Clarke realises that she's screwed, oh so screwed. She can't not look at him because that would be really weird but she doesn't think she should risk turning around either because she doesn't have the self control she wishes she had.

“Sorry,” he murmurs from behind her. “I was just finishing off in the shower.”

Clarke blushes at the implication. She has to take a moment to compose herself before turning her head to look at him. “S'okay.”

Luckily, he has his head in the fridge, so she has a moment to compose herself before he turns back to her with a soda in his hand. She tries so hard not to make it obvious that she's checking him out – that she was shamelessly staring at his shoulders – but she hopes that the fact he's wearing his glasses and they've steamed up might also help her cause. (They of course, aesthetically, only make things worse for Clarke but she's an adult dammit.)

“Want to order some food? I'm starving.” she asks, trying not to watch as a droplet of water rolls down his torso. Jesus. She really needs to get out of there – and quickly – before she does something stupid like jump him or something else equally as embarrassing. Menus seem like a good excuse, right? She hopes so anyway. “Go get dressed, I'll grab some menus?”

She hears him chuckle lightly as she nearly sprints out of the door and she hopes she wasn't too transparent.

-

He's lying back on the sofa, tossing a baseball in the air with one hand and catching it with the other, when she walks back in with a hand full of takeaway menus. The usually irritating fluorescent hallway lighting frames her in the door way and it's the first time he's dropped the ball – she'd been gone at least twenty minutes so he'd taken it as an achievement, although he doesn't know why it had taken her so long. Bellamy thinks it might be some weird cosmic metaphor for their relationship or something. And maybe it would be, you know, if he was in a John Green novel.

Even if she wasn't bathed in light, albeit that from the hall, he still thinks she'd look beautiful. She always does, even if she's just woken up. It's kind of hard not to tell her sometimes – he can feel it on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to give himself away – but he doesn't want to overstep the mark. If something happens between them, it'll happen he reasons.

(He'd told this to Octavia the day before on the phone and she'd told him he was being stupid. She always tells him he's being stupid so he doesn't take it too personally. This time, though, she might have a point.)

She stops where she is, the door still open behind her. “What on earth are you doing?”  
  
“Channelling the 90's.” he shrugs. “I was feeling nostalgic.” he adds, nodding his head towards the Friends rerun on the TV.

She smirks, shutting the door. “I thought you hated the 90's though.” They'd discussed it over popcorn when an advert for a nineties history documentary had flashed up. He'd promptly gone on a full on rant and told her how the nineties couldn't possibly be in a history documentary because they just happened. She'd rolled her eyes at him and called him Grandpa which was probably a fair accusation.

“Only some of them. '95 through '99 were pretty decent.” The first few years hadn't been great, his mum had a never ending stream of scum bag boyfriends back then. But, like he said, the last half, well, that's when he had O and, even though he had to give up most of his childhood, it'd been when things started to look up for him. She'd given him something to take care of. Octavia liked to tell him that he was the kind of person who needed to be able to take care of others and he supposes that she's kind of right. But she only has herself to blame for that.

She rolls her eyes and sits almost directly on top of him. “I brought all the menus that me and Raven have stashed around our place. What did you want to eat?”

“Surely you know what the best way to my heart is by now Clarke?” he laughs, tugging at the pizza menus.

“Uh, I'd say through the fourth and fifth rib but I don't think that's what you were aiming for.”

He's pretty sure the look on his face is somewhere between horrified and mildly turned on. “Not quite and now I'm slightly scared of you.”

She starts to cackle, slapping her thigh. “Good. That's exactly how I like my men.” she laughs. “Tall, dark and a little terrified of me.”

He tries to hide his blush behind one of the menus but he's pretty sure she notices what she's said because her cheeks have turned a matching shade of pink to his.

They settle on pizza, like he hoped they would, but she's ordered about five different types of chicken to go with it and he knows that they'll probably just end up sharing anyway. He kind of hopes so once the food actually arrives and he can smell the chicken nuggets. They might just be a weakness of his.

“So,” she begins – or at least that's what he thinks she says, her mouth is too stuffed with chicken for him to tell. “Are we doing presents or no?”

Truth be told, he hadn't even thought about it. He and Octavia only did presents on each others birthdays but they went all out on food and games for the big day. “O and I don't usually do presents. But if you wanted -”

“Oh, no it's okay. Raven and I don't do gifts either but I just thought that maybe you'd want to.” she looks down, fiddling with her hands and he has the urge to hold them in his.

“It's just that money was tight growing up and we figured we'd celebrate the real meaning of Christmas instead.” He leaves out the part where Octavia had thrown a few tantrums, not understanding why all the other kids had new toys every January, but he'd tried his best to make sure she'd had a stocking at the very least until she reached her teens and began to understand their situation.

“That's actually really nice.” she says rubbing his bicep affectionately. “People waste so much money this time of the year and forget what the holidays are really about.”

“Thanks.” he murmurs.

“Here.” she smiles, offering him the box of nuggets. “I'll do you a trade. Some chicken nuggets for a slice of pizza?” she laughs when he eyes her sceptically. “We can call them our presents to each other.”

“You're ridiculous, anyone ever tell you that?” he snarks, popping a nugget into his mouth. If he thinks that she's the best present he could have got then he doesn't say anything. He might think it, though. Maybe.

-

She wakes up on Christmas morning to someone pounding on her door. In the brief moment before she fully wakes up she thinks it might be Raven about to bust her ass for eating all the Ramen again or for dumping her laundry in the bathroom, but then she open her eyes, catching sight of the fairy lights around her door, and remembers that it's Christmas.

“Clarke!” The voice is muffled but she still knows who it belongs to. She swipes her hair off of her face, yawning, and glances at her alarm clock. It's nine in the morning so she still has another hour before she's meant to meet him.

She checks her phone too.

2 missed call(s) from: Mom

3 new message(s) from: Raven, Mom and Bellamy

She texts Bellamy to come in, not having the energy yet to shout, and then, ignoring the messages from her Mom, and then sends a quick greeting to her room-mate.

He knocks again, this time on her bedroom door. “Are you, uh, decent?” she hears the crack in his voice but decides it's better not to comment.

“Uh, actually. Give me a sec?” she call, scrambling out of her quilt and pulling on the nearest sweater to hand to cover up her ratty old vest top. “You can come in now?”

“I thought we were meeting later?” she asks at the exact same time he blurts out, “Is that mine?”

She flushes, knowing all too well that he cheeks have probably turned scarlet, and curses her body for betraying her. “I was going to give it back.”

“Okay.” he smiles, tugging on the hood string. It looks as though he might say something else – she can practically see the cogs turning in his brain – but he just starts to play with the string instead, not meeting her eye. “Anyway...I, uh, thought you might want something to eat before we head over. O likes to eat late on Christmas day so you'll probably be starving by about one.”

“Sure, I could eat.” she shrugs, throwing off her duvet. “Pancakes?”

“Do you even have flour? Or eggs for that matter?”

“Good point, want to go to yours?”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure, but I've run out of chocolate chips.”

“I don't know why I keep you around.” she jokes, nudging him with her elbow as they head out of her place.

If the weird guy that lives on Clarkes floor gives them a questionable look then she hopes its because they're up this early on Christmas, not because he thinks they hooked up.

-

His car is near to freezing as Bellamy drives them across town to Lincolns apartment. Since he was a mature student like Bellamy – but 'only by a few years' as Octavia liked to remind him whenever he pointed it out – he was able to afford to live off campus rather than crashing in the dorms with the rest of the students, unlike Bellamy. But of course, since neither of them have been there before he has no idea where he's going so Clarke is having to navigate from the passengers seat, blankets wrapped round her legs because he's not a savage dammit.

Eventually, after a couple of wrong turns, they pull up outside the apartment complex and the streets are as quiet as you'd expect. Before Clarke can get out of the car, Bellamy hops out and jogs around to open the door for her, loving the way her cheeks flush as he holds his hand out for her.

“Such a gentleman.” she laughs, patting his arm.

“I know.” he smiles.

Lincoln lives on the twelfth floor and Bellamy is oh so glad that he can see a working elevator as soon as they walk into the foyer. He ushers Clarke through the opening doors and only falters slightly when he has to lean over her to push the twelfth button. They're mostly quiet for the duration, Clarke just nods along to the music which he thinks is cute. Well he thinks a lot of the things she does are cute. Sue him.

Bellamy only has to knock once before the door flies open and Octavia has thrown herself at him, knocking him back as he stumbles to catch her. “Welcome, welcome.” she calls over her brothers shoulder to Clarke.

She then throws herself at Clarke with just as much force, wishing her a Merry Christmas, before stepping aside and allowing them into the apartment. Bellamy tentatively shakes Lincolns hand, still not entirely comfortable with his presence, as the older man welcomes them into his home. Clarke hugs Lincoln quickly and the pair exchange a small smile as they pull apart.

By the time Lincoln has brought all the food out from the kitchen Bellamy is starving but he still doesn't think they're going to manage all this food between the four of them – he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to turkey sandwiches for the next few days. There's mountains of food, different meats and steaming vegetables, and he can't help but smile at the look of glee on his sisters face. This had always been what he wished he could provide for her and, in that moment, he softens considerably towards her boyfriend.

Once they're all finished, the food sitting heavily in their stomachs, Lincoln gets up to clear the table.

“It's okay, I'll do it.” Bellamy finds himself saying, gesturing to the crockery. The taller man has a look on his face as though he's pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, I'll help too.” Clarke smiles, getting up and starting to collect plates.

The two of them busy themselves tidying up, trying to balance armfuls of china to avoid more trips then waiting patiently for the other so they could pass through the narrow door frame and into the kitchen without dropping anything.

It just so happened that he was walking back out into the living room as Clarke was walking into the kitchen, she was only carrying a bowl so they could both squeeze through. He knows he's in for trouble when he hears his sister clear her throat and then start to laugh.

“What?” he snaps, glaring at his sister who was still laughing to herself as he and Clarke still stood in the doorway.

In lieu of a reply she just points above where he and Clarke are standing before collapsing onto the sofa next to her boyfriend in another fit of laughter. When neither Bellamy or Clarke say anything, just staring somewhat awkwardly at each other, she finally speaks. “Well. Aren't you going to kiss her?”  
  
He frowns, trying to hide the way his heart is hammering in his chest at the thought. He really wants to kiss Clarke – he really does – but he also doesn't want to give his sister the satisfaction. It's kind of twisted really. “Come on, O. Don't be a child.”

“It's tradition.” she singsongs and he begins to regret ever agreeing to today because of course Octavia was going to trick him into something like this. He would curse who ever raised her but he only has himself to blame. “Your sister, your responsibility remember?”

“Octavia.” Lincoln murmurs, almost stern, but it doesn't seem to have any affect on her.

Octavia gestures towards him and Clarke with a sort of together motion.

“Bellamy Blake, you're not scared are you?” Clarke whispers, taking a step closer to him with a raised eyebrow. “It's only a kiss.” she adds, but he can tell even as she says it that it's not really the case. With Clarke it could never be just a kiss and she knows it too.

He can feel himself getting flustered and he's grasping desperately for something to say when Lincoln turns to Octavia. “O. The kitchen for a moment please.” And Bellamy thinks that he hasn't given the other man enough credit especially when his sister follows him without putting up any sort of protest, sliding past her brother with a smirk.

“It is tradition.” Clarke smiles, looking up at him with (what he thinks looks like) a hopeful expression on her face. Her eyes drift down to his lips but then snap back up to meet his and he can feel the anticipation thrumming in the air. He can feel the air between them getting warmer and he shifts ever so slightly closer to her, putting his hand on her lip.

He falters for another second, trying to think things through, but his trail of thought gets cut off as soon as she leans up and captures his lips in a quick kiss. He pauses, a little shell shocked, before following her lips as she pulls away. “Tradition, yeah.” he murmurs, pecking her lips once more.

He can't help but think, when she pulls him back down for another, much less chaste, kiss that however they started off at least it ended up well. Very well indeed, he thinks when she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip and tangles her hand in his hair.

He almost forgets his sister is in the next room.

.  



End file.
